Rick's contemplation comes to a close as the day begins. There is more to be done in this one than the last.

Forest outside shed

"The sun is rising."

The woods had yielded little more than darkness, trees, walkers, and ghosts from both the past and present. Roaming through darkness only gives light to the demons that haunt Rick's consciousness. Not that he's feeling very conscious or alive for that matter. In a walker-like manner, the sheriff slides down the path. His clothes are covered in walker blood, and his hands are equally covered. If he was more alert, he might realize how fitting the dried blood really is.

His eyes are swollen and reddenned—the puffiness adding an element of pitability to the embittered sheriff.

Rick's movements allow him to blend with the walkers, not that it's the goal. With their blood literally on his hands, he doesn't smell particuarly delicious either, only like the rotting flesh of which the dead are comprised.

The voices, however, whisper constantly in his ears. In a way, Rick is one of them. The dead. But the whispers serve as a reminder of the life that still courses through his veins. Death would give freedom. Rick Grimes doesn't deserve such a sentence.

A sole walker ventures just a little too close to the Sheriff, bidding him to raise his knife-wielding hand and lodge it through the ghoul's temple, silently.

The shack where Rick had left Andrea approaches in the clearing, but the Sheriff's expression only deadens further. He slowly lurches towards it, only to collapse his back against it and to stare out at the horizon.

The darkness begins to lift.

The sun is rising.

It's time to fight another day.

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